


there's nothing wrong with ohio (except the snow and the rain)

by kibbleboy



Category: Band of Brothers, hbo - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 13:23:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3730519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kibbleboy/pseuds/kibbleboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Easy High has never had the best baseball team, but this year they’ve yet to be defeated, and Coach Speirs is taking them two states over for the away game of their life. The journey, however, may be more important than the destination.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> this is one hullabaloo mess of a fic/au so if anything confuses you just ask in the comments and i'll clear that shit up sorry lmao  
> no disrespect meant to the men of easy company, this is based purely on their actor portrayals  
> anyways here we go i hope y'all enjoy

“How do people even wake up this early?” Lewis asked, squinting his eyes and stifling a yawn.

“You get up this early every day,” Dick pointed out, checking names off of the attendance roster on his clipboard.

“God no,” Lewis disagreed, shaking his head. “I sleep at my desk until second period.”

Dick glanced over with raised eyebrows, pausing in his work.

“Really?” he asked, as if it was completely unheard of.

“Mm-hmm,” Lewis answered, slumping back on his heels and sticking his hands in his pockets. 

Dick just shook his head, probably wondering how Lewis hadn’t been fired yet, and went back to the clipboard in his hands.

Lewis adjusted the duffel bag on his shoulder. It held four nights’ worth of clothes (as the trip form specified), and a bottle of liquor he’d wrapped in bubble wrap and napkins (as the trip form had clearly specified against). On his other shoulder was a bag with extra practicing equipment, as Coach Speirs liked to be prepared.

Easy High’s baseball team was going on the road to an away game two states over, and Lewis and Dick, as the managers, had to be at the school early to start the trip off. The team would be travelling in a school bus, with a one-night stop halfway there and another three-night stop at the actual game site. Coach Ronald Speirs was, to put it lightly, hardcore.

However, Lewis silently admitted, the man was also a godsend. First they’d had Coach Sobel, who had been everything that Lewis (and the boys) hated. After he was fired they’d had Coach Meehan, who was a good man and a decent coach. He got in a car crash and was paralyzed from the waist down, though, and that’s where Coach Speirs had come in. And the Easy Baseball team had gone undefeated ever since.

Speaking of Coach Speirs, the man was presently pacing along the sidewalk with a brisk, angry step. They’d been waiting for the bus for-- Lewis looked at his watch-- an hour and twenty-six minutes now. Needless to say, Speirs was...antsy.

“Well, Skip is finally here,” Dick noted as an exasperated teenager hopped out of a Subaru, clutching his bags to his shoulders and jogging over to the rest of the boys to wait with them. “That’s everyone.”

“Yeah, now if the damn bus would just show up,” Lewis muttered under his breath. He exchanged a resigned look with Dick, slight amusement playing on the redhead’s features.

“I’m sure Mr. Dike will be here shortly,” he said with a small smile. Lewis had to keep from rolling his eyes.

“Er, Mr. Winters?” a small voice piped up from behind Lewis’ shoulder. (The boys had been instructed to call Dick and Lewis Coach, but every boy insisted on referring to them as Mr. Winters and Mr. Nixon. Maybe it was because they were so used to Lewis and Dick as authoritative figures, as Lewis was the school secretary and Dick was the VP.)

“Yes, Frank. What do you need?” Dick responded naturally, turning his shoulders to face the boy.

“Uh,” Frank said, shuffling his feet on the pavement. “Do you know when the bus is gonna be here? We’re getting kinda cold.”

“Well, the bus was _supposed_ to be here about an hour ago,” Lewis answered before Dick could say anything. This granted him a look of warning from Dick.

“No, I’m afraid not. It’s just a waiting game for now,” he responded surely. Frank nodded, sighing, and stalked back off to the other boys to deliver the news.

“Does he have any idea how unprofessional this is?” an unexpected voice gruffly hissed, Coach Speirs coming into view.

“I’m sure he’ll show up soon, Ron,” Dick assured him, pursing his lips. 

And then, as if Dick’s words had been a magic spell, a bright yellow school bus pulled up on the side of the road beside Easy High.

Speirs immediately stalked over to Mr. Dike as he got out of the bus, having a fierce word or two with him. Mr. Dike seemed to shrug off the verbal abuse and just went to open the bottom compartments of the bus, and Speirs turned and whistled for the boys to listen up (although that was hardly necessary, as everyone was immediately paying attention once the bus had finally arrived).

“Mr. Dike here will be our bus driver for the trip. Put your bags under the bus and file on in,” he instructed with a booming voice. “I trust that I won’t have to break out the seating arrangement. Now, let’s get this show on the road.”

~

“Did you bring alcohol, Lew?” Dick asked in a hushed voice, prying Lewis’ attention away from staring out the bus window.

“What, how’d you know? I didn’t even drink any of it yet,” he said, a little bit surprised. Sure, Dick usually seemed to know when he had alcohol on him, but this was just getting ridiculous.

Dick made a face, leaning back in his seat.

“You’re not complaining at all,” he said, a non-threatening warning in his voice.

Lewis gave an allowing nod. Dick picked things up rather quickly.

“Well. It’s just one bottle of liquor, anyways. It’s in my duffel,” he huffed, not all that unlike a child being disciplined. 

“One bottle?” Dick echoed, raising an eyebrow. “This trip is for six days. How are you going to manage?”

Lewis gave a quick laugh, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the seat.

“Oh, Dick. I have every confidence in my scrounging abilities.”

“That’s not very reassuring, Nix.”

“Shh. I need my beauty rest.”

~

It was, surprisingly, screaming that woke Lewis up. 

(Surprising not in that he was surprised to hear screaming, more like surprising in that, due to his old partying habits, the screaming didn’t surprise him in the least. God, Lewis, what does that say about you?)

He opened his eyes and groaned, blinking a few times.

It wasn’t Speirs screaming, although it should have been, because from what it looked like something had been pelted right into his left eye. He held a hand over his eye, muttering curses under his breath. Carwood Lipton was leaning out of his seat behind Dick and Lewis’ (still respecting the “stay seated at all times” rule, bless his heart) to try to see if Speirs was hurt too badly.

Dick was leaning forward too, speaking to Mr. Dike and asking him to pull over.

“Oh my god,” Lewis said, standing up to face the back of the bus. “Whoever’s screaming, will you please shut up?”

The screaming cut off, and George Luz’s face popped up above one of the seats. 

“I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to actually hit him!” he wailed, looking like he thought someone was going to castrate him. “We were just having a sunflower seed-spitting contest!”

Lewis just waved him off, turning instead back to Speirs. One of the boys (the name Gene popped into Lewis’ head) had come up through the aisle and was taking a look at Speirs’ eye, silently dabbing at it with a wet paper towel.

The bus abruptly pulled to a stop at the side of the road, and as soon as it did so, every boy in the bus was standing and talking.

“Everyone, please sit down,” Dick called above the roar, facing the boys. They all quieted down and returned to their seats with minimal arguments. Dick just had that kind of effect on people.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Lewis could hear George sputtering from the back, “I’m gonna die! I’m gonna die and my last few hours of life will be with you guys!”

“You probably are,” another voice (probably Gonorrhea-- er, Bill-- by the strong Philadelphian accent) chirped. “I mean, did you hear what the kids from Old Breed High said?”

Dick sighed in resignation, having heard the exchange, and Lewis couldn’t help but share his exasperation. When Speirs had come to Easy High’s baseball team, he certainly hadn’t come without his fair share of rumors. But it didn’t help that the guy refused to deny any of them.

“Okay, well-- I think you’ll be fine, Coach,” Gene said, standing up straight and letting Speirs do the same. “It only hit the edge of your eyelid, from what I can tell.”

“Of course I’ll be fine,” Speirs said a little snappily, blinking as if nothing had happened (even though there was a very obvious red spot around his eye). A little nicer this time, he added a quick thanks to Gene. Gene just nodded and walked back to his seat.

“You can go back to your seat now too, Carwood, I’m fine,” Speirs added in an even gentler tone, patting the kid on the shoulder. Carwood promptly left, heading back to sit down again as well.

The bus started back up again, and Dick returned to the seat he shared with Lewis. The two exchanged a long glance.

“Well,” Lewis sighed, making a face, “this is going to be a long trip.”

“Tell me about it,” Dick scoffed.

They could still hear George wailing and whining about his apparently imminent death from the back of the bus.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok here we go again

It had taken a while (and all of the team’s best efforts, including Don reluctantly speaking in an Irish accent) to calm George down after he’d nailed Coach Speirs in the eye with a sunflower seed shell and thought he was going to die, but once that mountain was climbed, all seemed to be well in the back of the bus.

“Jesus, but why we gotta go to another state for one ball game?” Babe asked huffily, holding on to the back of the seat in front of him as the bus went over a few bumps.

“Coach wants us to be the best of the best, I guess. And that includes playing the best teams, no matter where they are,” Johnny muttered from a few seats up (which was followed by a quick chuckle from their biggest and most southern player, Bull). 

“Yeah, but still,” Skip, a particularly good first baseman, sighed. “Next he’ll have us going to Texas for a scrimmage.”

“My brother’s workin’ in Texas,” Bill piped up from behind. “Says it’s hot.”

“Really?” Don asked sarcastically. “It’s _hot_ in Texas?”

“You shut up, fathead,” Bill barked, although it was clear he wasn’t actually angry. Malarkey just shook his head, going back to reading.

“Either way,” Buck, their transferred catcher, broke in. “This bus ride is gonna take a while. Who’s up for BS?”

“Ooh! Deal me in,” Frank chirped. A number of the other boys echoed his approval, and Buck started to shuffle through his deck of cards.

“Wait, so how’s this game work?” Donny Hoobler perked up, leaning out of his seat a bit.

“Well,” George started before Buck could answer, “everyone gets a hand of cards, and you’re supposed to take clockwise turns putting down a full deck. For example, Buck’s got two aces, he puts down two aces. Next up is Bull, but he doesn’t have a two. So he puts down a random card and says it’s a two. The trick is not to get caught lying.”

“And, if you think somebody’s lying, you say BS. If you’re right, they take the deck. If they’re right, you do,” Bill finished.

“What word are we using for if you get away with lyin’?” Toye asked, shifting in his seat as he took a look at his cards.

“Ehh,” Buck hummed, pondering. “Thunder, how’s that?”

The boys all murmured agreement. 

“Alright,” George said, grinning and placing a card face-down on the edge of Buck’s seat. “One ace.”

~

Buck was 63% sure that nobody was paying attention.

The boys in the back were all far into their third game of BS, but no one seemed to be listening all that attentively. 

“Shit, why are bus rides so boring?” Toye sighed, staring out the window. His hand was relaxed lazily on his knee, and Buck could clearly see the three cards he was holding; two fives and a king. 

“Who’s turn is it?” Donny asked with an absent mind, the fingers on his free hand tapping against the back of the seat in front of him.

“It’s Frank’s,” Buck sighed, glancing over to the boy. He was staring tiredly at the floor. Buck paused.

“Frank,” he said again, raising his voice in the slightest.

“Eh?” he grunted, perking up. “Whatcha need?”

“Your turn,” Donny said, exhaling through his nose. 

“Oh,” Frank said. This was painfully boring. “What number are we on?”

“No clue, actually,” Bull drawled, blinking.

“It’s six,” Buck said flatly.

Frank shrugged, placing a single card face-down on the pile. 

“A six, then.”

It was Buck’s turn then. He sighed, shifting through his cards, and then eyed the rest of the boys. None of them were even looking at him. This was the worst game in the history of BS games. 

“Okay, my turn,” Buck said levelly. He put four cards down. “Thirteen sevens.”

Not a word.

“Really?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Nobody’s gonna call me on that. George?”

“Wha'?” the kid huffed. He had all but abandoned his cards, checking some sort of social media site on his phone.

“Unbelievable,” Buck hummed. “Well, thunder.”

~

“Malark, I’ll give you a handy if you let me copy your homework,” Skip suddenly said, voice cheery. Mr. Winters had organized for there to be a study hall time during their bus ride, and some kids (Don, Carwood, Johnny, that sort) were taking it more seriously than others.

Don rolled his eyes, gaze not leaving his math notebook.

“You’d give me one anyways, Skip,” he said, unimpressed.

(Nobody completely understood Don, Skip, and Alex’s relationship. Sometimes they were inseparable best friends, other times they refused to talk to one another, and other times-- like now-- they casually offered up blatantly sexual services.)

“Yeah, well,” Skip laughed, resting his chin on Don’s shoulder, “this way you could repay me for my love.”

“Jesus Christ, that sounds like prostitution,” Toye huffed, crossing his arms. “Get a fuckin’ room.”

“What?” Skip asked innocently. “I wouldn’t have given it to him in public. I’m not a barbarian.”

“What about that time in Spanish class?” George asked pointedly.

“Okay, well,” Don started briskly, glancing up from his homework, “that was _one_ time. Like, last year.”

“And that time in Mr. Welsh’s class?” Frank butted in.

Skip laughed, and Don sighed.

“Gimme a break, that one was Alex, not me!” he exclaimed.

“What about me?” Alex asked, head popping into the aisle from a ways up the bus.

“We were talking about the time you sucked--”

“Babe, shut up!”

“Geez, sorry.”

Alex, with a significantly pinker face, cleared his throat and promptly pulled his head back out from the aisle.

“Plus, it wasn’t a suck,” Skip whispered, leaning towards Babe. “It was a handy.”

“What’s with you guys and handies?” Bill asked irritably. 

Skip shrugged.

“I dunno, they’re easier. And you don’t have to brush your teeth after.”

“Would you all stop yappin’ about giving each other handies?” Liebgott hissed from further up the bus. “Kinda trying to work on my German homework here.”

“Excuse me, _work on_?” David scoffed from equally far up the bus. “You’re just copying everything I right down, Joe.”

“Am not!”

“Yes, you are!”

As Liebgott and David got into another one of their infamous fights, Skip cleared his throat, bringing the attention back to him.

“Anyways, Don,” he cooed, grinning, “how about that homework?”

Don grumbled something to himself, shoving the notebook over. Better to give in that to let Skip continue his war stories about their sexual relations, he figured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: donny is hoobler and don is malarkey, in case that wasn't clear


	3. Chapter Three

“Thank fuckin’ god,” Toye huffed, dropping his bags on the floor of their hotel room.

“You can say that again,” Bill agreed tiredly, following suit in the dropping of bags.

"A TV!" George squealed excitedly, rushing over to grab the remote as the remaining boys (Babe and David) filed into the hotel room. "I wonder if they have HBO."

"Does it matter?" Bill said, going over to the sink to wash his hands after sitting in the grimy bus all day. "We're finally out of that goddamn bus."

"Yeah, tell me about it!" Babe said, giving Bill a pat on the shoulder as he passed by.

Toye felt a quick twinge of jealousy, even though Bill had said time and time again about how Babe was just like the little brother he'd never asked for. (Toye and Bill weren't even fucking going out, so this jealousy made even less sense. Toye was just... _territorial_.)

"God, I am gonna sleep for fucking hours tonight," he rumbled, going to sit on one of the beds and kicking his shoes off. "Webster, you better not be reading when I need to sleep."

David looked like he'd just been accused of pedophilia (the dramatic son of a bitch), dropping his stuff down next to the couch with a loud bang.

"Christ, Joe, I wasn't gonna," he said in a little huff. Toye rolled his eyes. He really understood where Liebgott came from, fighting with this guy.

"Say, Davey," George hummed as he flipped through channels, "why's it that only guys named Joe hate you?"

"Toye hates everyone," Babe pointed out (Toye wanted to snap his goddamn neck, even if he was right).

"Liebgott doesn't hate everyone, does he?" Bill asked, turning the faucet off and drying his hands.

"No, I don't think so," David mused, going to sit Indian style. "I'm just a large inconvenience for him. At least, that's what he told me one time in German class."

George laughed, kicking his feet up on the bed.

"Did he really? Ah, Lieb. Whatta guy."

“I wonder if Mr. Nixon brought any liquor,” Toye wondered aloud. The secretary’s alcoholism wasn’t exactly what you’d call a secret.

“You think he’d give us some?” George asked, an incredulous laugh escaping his lips as he decided on sticking with the cooking channel.

“Well, Luz, I wasn’t exactly planning on asking him for it,” Toye deadpanned, narrowing his eyes. 

“Hey, you never know,” George said defensively, shrugging. “Last time I was in the office to call my mom, I asked him for some and he handed it right over.”

Toye paused, immediately making eye contact with Bill from across the room. (They had been self-proclaimed drinking buddies ever since the eighth grade, when they’d shared their first beer together at a school Christmas dance.)

“‘Scuse us,” Bill said, a grin spreading across his face. “I think there’s a man Joe and I need to find.”

~

They found him where anyone would assume to find an alcoholic-- the hotel’s bar.

“Mr. Nixon?” Bill asked amiably (the kid could sound like a fucking saint when he needed to), tapping the man on his shoulder. He swiveled around, blinking at them in surprise.

“Toye, Guarnere. Can I help you?”

Toye gestured for the secretary to step aside a ways away from the bar, and surprisingly, he complied.

“Look, we know you brought liquor,” Toye said in a hushed voice, trying to use his Scary Face.

Mr. Nixon laughed at that, shaking his head.

“Speirs already knows, I won’t get in trouble if you little bastards rat on me,” he said, amused. (He’d never had a very good language control around kids.)

“We weren’t gonna tell on you,” Toye huffed, restraining himself from calling the secretary a dumbass. Toye was an asshole, sure, but never a narc. “We just want some, is all.”

Mr. Nixon glanced back and forth between them, eyebrows raising.

“You’re kidding, right?” he asked in a low voice. 

“George Luz said you gave him some--” Bill started defensively.

“George Luz?” Mr. Nixon asked, laughing again. “Did he also tell you that I was drunk when I did that?”

Bill and Toye exchanged a disgruntled look, and Bill sighed, tucking his hands in his pockets.

“That part might’ve been left out,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, I’m not surprised. I won’t tell the big man you asked me for liquor-- because, hell, I was the same in high school-- but you’re still not getting any.”

Toye sighed, clenching his jaw. There went his hope for a fun night.

“See you tomorrow, boys. Don’t do anything stupid,” Mr. Nixon said with a little wave, turning back towards the bar.

“See you, Mr. Nixon,” Bill sighed, grabbing Toye’s shoulder to turn him away and start walking off.

“Well, fuck,” Toye hummed as they walked. Bill was leading them on a route opposite of the way to their room-- gift shop, Toye figured.

“Don’t get yourself all pissed off now,” Bill said in a resigned sort of tone. “At least we tried.”

“Luz gave us false hope, that’s what happened.”

Bill just shrugged as they arrived at the gift shop, digging around in his wallet for some money as he started browsing.

“I don’t wanna go back to that stinkin’ hotel room.”

“Why not, are you wussed on going back with no liquor?” Bill asked, smirking. He selected a can of Campbell’s soup on-the-go (a terrible invention, if you asked Toye) and made his way over to the cashier to pay for it.

“No,” Toye said, almost defensively. “I just...don’t.”

“Fine then, pansy,” Bill said, exiting the gift shop and turning towards the front doors of the hotel. “We’ll take a walk.”

Toye raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t object. Might as well get some fresh air and exercise, right?

“Man, you ain’t gonna believe what happened at the rest stop today,” Bill started as they padded down the sidewalk. 

“So, we’re eatin’ sunflower seeds, out back so’s we don’t get in trouble for spitting them on the owner’s property or whatever. And Babe’s phone rings, and I’m yappin’ at him to answer the fuckin’ call, ‘cause I’ll be damned if it’s his Ma and he misses it. That woman does wonders for him and his brothers and sister, I’ll tell ya. So he’s all jumpy, he answers the call with his high-ass voice, and who is it but Doris.”

“...Doris?” Toye asked in a less-than-happy voice. (So, he hadn’t kept up with everything that happened in Babe’s life, shoot him.)

“Yeah, Doris,” Bill said, like it was obvious. “Y’know, that girl Babe was head-over-heels for? The one who dumped his sorry ass last year? Anyways, she’s on the phone, and she says she wants to have a serious talk with him. And the poor bastard can’t do anything but blubber and wail about how she ‘left him for good’, ‘broke his heart’, shit like that.”

“I don’t like that kid,” Toye muttered, scuffing his shoes on the pavement as they walked. 

“Who, Heffron? No kiddin’?” Bill asked, sounding nearly surprised.

Toye shrugged, making a face.

“He’s fuckin’ annoying.”

“I’ve known him since third grade,” Bill said, in an almost accusatory way. 

“Yeah, well, you’ve known me since first,” Toye spat, in the way that he sometimes did.

“Wait, wait,” Bill said, stopping in his tracks and holding out his hand for Toye to as well. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

“C’mon, Gonorrhea,” Toye grumbled, his cheeks going pink.

Bill laughed like he’d won the fucking lottery.

“Joseph Toye, you are! You’re jealous!” he cooed.

“Shut up, I’ll break your fucking balls,” Toye growled, sticking his hands in his pockets and hunching his shoulders.

“Aw, but what would your Ma say? She likes me, y’know,” Bill said innocently, picking up the pace again and cracking open his soup-on-the-go.

“As if,” Toye huffed, almost laughing. It was common knowledge that his mother hated Bill Guarnere’s guts. It was almost petty, really.

“At least I tried,” Bill said, shrugging and flashing a grin. He paused, pursing his lips seriously. “But you know Babe’s just like my kid brother.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Toye sighed. He’d heard this argument before.

“You’re my best friend, Joe, you should know that by now. I gotta look out for that tyke-- promised his Ma a long time ago-- but you’re always gonna come first.”

Toye rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. Even though he’d heard it a thousand times before, it was nice to be reminded.

“Dumbass,” Bill added as an afterthought.

Toye (affectionately) punched Bill in the shoulder.

“Hey, watch it, that’s my catching arm,” Bill said, mock-angry.

“What the fuck ever, Guarnere,” Toye countered smartly, laughing. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me.”

The sky was getting darker, and the brisk evening air was starting to cause a chill to creep up Toye’s spine, and he could smell that disgusting Campbell’s soup in Bill’s hand, but Toye hadn’t felt so light in a while. He grinned to himself as their shoulders brushed, Bill starting to go off again (something about his brother being an asshole this time). It wasn’t too bad.

~

“Where’ve you two been?” Webster puffed upon their return, not all that unlike a stern mother. 

“Geez, didn’t know we needed a permission slip,” Bill quipped as they entered the room. 

“He’s only pissed ‘cause George wouldn’t stop talking about how you might’ve died,” Babe clarified from his current position of lying on the couch.

“What?” George asked in response to the accusatory looks. “Nixon could’ve killed ‘em. You never know.”

“Anyways,” Babe continued, sighing, “we decided on sleeping arrangements while you were gone. I claimed this one on your guys’ behalf. Usually I’d share with Bill, but...he kicks in his sleep.”

And then, Babe Heffron did something that made Toye reconsider his previous plan of snapping the kid’s neck: He winked. He fucking winked, right at Toye.

Toye knew for a fact that Bill didn’t kick in his sleep.

Maybe Babe wasn’t half bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry about that chapter  
> i'm reALLY BAD AT WRITING TOYE/GUARNERE


	4. Chapter Four

It was eight in the morning, and the Easy Baseball team was back on the road. 

“God, I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night,” Liebgott groaned, rubbing his closed eyes almost violently.

“Why, Skip and Don keep you up with all the handies?” George joked, wiggling his eyebrows up and down.

“My God, George, would you quit with that?” Don huffed, eyebrows furrowing and cheeks going pink. “Anyways, you were the one that kept Buck up on the phone all night.”

“It wasn’t _all_ night,” George said, now his turn to blush. Buck just chuckled from a few seats back.

“It was all night,” David affirmed, giving a quick nod.

“Whatever! Whatever, it doesn’t matter,” George said quickly, digging his hand into his backpack and fishing out a deck of cards. “Let’s play cards.”

“Okay,” Toye said, leaning forward in the aisle. “What’re we playing?”

“Not BS,” Buck said immediately. 

“Christ, but that’s all we ever play,” Frank whined. “I don’t think I even know how to play anything else.”

“How’s poker?” Bill suggested, leaning forward as well now.

“Last time we played poker, my Xbox caught on fire and the neighbors called the cops on us,” David said dryly. His face screwed up. “And I think that’s when my dog ran away, too.”

“Oh yeah, I remember that,” Buck piped up, sighing. “I lost my favorite pair of jeans that night.”

“Fine, no poker.”

“Well, we all know how to play Go Fish,” Skip suggested with a laugh.

“That’s true,” Liebgott noted. George nodded, and the other boys voiced their agreements.

“Christ, I was joking,” Skip said flatly.

“Too late now,” Toye huffed, pulling out his wallet. “I vote we take this Go Fish game to the competitive level. Ten bucks, into the pool.”

“Hey, yeah,” Bill agreed, adding five dollars to Toye’s ten.

“Okay, I can get down with this,” Skip said with a shrug, dropping some cash on the pile. Soon enough everyone had given in some amount of money and George was dealing out cards.

“This is the weirdest fuckin’ thing I think we’ve ever done,” Don muttered, shaking his head as he accepted his hand.

“Alright. Frank, you got a nine?”

“Go fish.”

~

“Fuck you in the ass, Webster, I knew you had a king!” Toye rumbled, muttering something about dirty liars as David set down a pair of kings.

“I thought we were supposed to lie,” David said blankly, raising his eyebrows. 

“No, that’s BS,” George huffed.

“Oh.”

“You haven’t been lying this whole time, right?” Liebgott asked dryly. “I mean. This is the third round we’ve played now.”

“I just...didn’t know,” David huffed.

“Yeah, you wouldn’t, would you?” Liebgott responded snarkily. David irritably shot him a look, which prompted Liebgott to stick his tongue out rather childishly.

“Whatever. Now everybody knows, no lying,” Buck said gingerly. “Bill, got a two?”

“Bastard,” Bill grumbled, only half-sincere. He handed over a two.

“Boys, listen up,” Speirs called from the front of the bus. He was standing, holding onto a seatback in front of him. “We’re pulling over at a rest stop for lunch. Bring your money, obviously, and no wandering off alone.”

“About time,” Bill hummed from the back. “I need a smoke.”

~

Gene stared blankly at the chilled shelves in front of him. Of course, they’d stopped at a gas station for lunch, and of course, there were only three salads in the entire store. (It didn’t help that they all looked equally toxic.)

“You don’t have to buy one,” Carwood said plainly, puffing his cheeks up. “You can have half my sandwich.”

“Thanks, but that’s okay,” Gene sighed, selecting the least scary option and leaving the shelves. “I mean, worst case scenario, I get food poisoning, right?”

Carwood made a face, but he didn’t protest. “I guess.”

They made their way to the cashier and Gene quickly payed for the mystery salad, thanking the lady behind the desk and going outside to sit at the park benches to the side of the rest stop. They sat down at the long bench that all the boys seemed to be congregating at, next to Ralph and Alex (who were having an in-depth conversation about Pokemon).

Gene noticed Carwood subtly glancing around the rest stop, pursing his lips.

“Coach Speirs is still on the bus,” Gene said, resisting a grin. Carwood started, eyes returning back to his sandwich embarrassedly. 

“I wasn’t...looking for the coach,” he said levelly.

“‘Course,” Gene said, nodding.

“I’m eighteen, Gene, and he’s an adult,” Carwood added quietly, looking a little lost.

“Almost nineteen,” Gene corrected. “And he’s got nice eyes.”

“...Yeah,” Carwood sighed, giving up. “He’s a great coach.”

Gene smiled. Carwood didn’t usually get flustered.

“Gene, Charizard’s better than Treecko, right?” Ralph asked suddenly, leaning in towards Gene.

“What is that?” Gene asked, dumbfounded (he’d never gotten into Pokemon). Ralph looked betrayed. Alex just shook his head.

“Alright,” Toye grunted, standing up and brushing his hands off on his jeans. “Bill and I are going for a smoke. Any of you nerds wanna tag along?”

Gene made a face. Everyone seemed to smoke on this goddamn team. They were high schoolers, for Christ’s sake.

“Cool, more for us,” Bill said when no one had stood with them. They turned, starting to walk off. “Anybody asks, we’re in the bathroom.”

“I bet two bucks and half a bag of gummy worms they’re just gonna end up giving each other handies instead of smoking,” Skip called once the boys were out of earshot. “Any takers?”

“I’ll bet a Hershey’s bar and my Biology homework against that,” Babe announced with a shrug. “Toye loves smoking too much.”

“Fair enough,” Skip said, grinning. “May the best man win.”

“Sure.”

“Again, Skip, what is your deal with handies?” Johnny muttered, rubbing his forehead.

Skip shrugged, sitting back down again.

“They’re neat,” he said passively.

~

“I wonder how Go Fish was invented,” George mused, looking over his cards.

Frank shrugged, popping his gum.

“Probably by some fishermen, I’d guess,” he said pointedly. 

“Actually, Game Board Geek describes Go Fish as uncredited, so nobody really knows,” David perked up, giving a quick nod.

“How the fuck would you know that?” Liebgott asked, his voice merely confused.

David shrugged.

“I go on forums.”

“Whatever, whiz kid,” George said, rolling his eyes. “Anyways. Uh, Toye, do you have a Jack?”

There was no response.

“Toye?” George asked, ducking his head over to look into Toye and Bill’s seat. “Oh, fuck.”

“What?” Buck asked, going to look as well. He came back with a pale face.

“Guys,” George said, a look of panic on his face, “we lost them.”

“Wait, really?” Don asked, raising his eyebrows. “Where would they be?”

“Shit, they went out for a smoke at the rest stop,” Frank groaned, screwing his eyes shut.

“Coach Speirs!” George called, standing up to get the man’s attention.

“Sit down. What do you need?” Speirs responded, quickly standing and making his way through the aisle to the back of the bus. 

“Uh, I think, um,” George sputtered, looking even more panicked than before. (He was probably remembering the sunflower seed incident.)

“We left Toye and Guarnere at the rest stop,” Buck finished for him, looking a little nervous himself.

Speirs blinked, his face showing no emotion.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“‘Fraid not, Coach,” Liebgott sighed. Speirs’ eyebrows furrowed.

“Great,” he said, turning swiftly on his heel and going up to the front again.

The boys couldn’t hear what Speirs said to Mr. Dike, but the bus then made an abrupt U-Turn.

“Well,” Skip sighed, leaning against the window. “They’re gonna kill us.”

“Yep,” David said bluntly. “We’re dead.”

“Dead as shit.”

~

When Toye and Bill had been picked up again, they were understandably very angry (“Does nobody on this bus check their goddamned phone? I called about five of you assholes, multiple times!”), and Bill reminded them of their mistake every once in a while with a string of the kind of insults you could only get from a kid who’d grown up in Philadelphia.

“Look, we’re awful sorry,” Donny sighed, apologizing for perhaps the fifth time.

“I’m just surprised Speirs or Winters didn’t notice,” Toye grumbled, crossing his arms. “Ain’t they supposed to be in charge of that shit? Missin’ kids, and all?”

“Well, Coach Speirs has been talking to Carwood since we left,” Don said, “and I think I heard someone say that Mr. Winters was asleep. You can’t blame them, we’re a big number.”

“Yeah, then who can I blame?” Toye asked, narrowing his eyes. “‘Cause I really wanna punch someone right about now.”

“I don’t know, but it ain’t my fault,” George said quickly, looking back down at his hand of cards again. “Say, Toye, you got a Jack by any chance?”

“Fuck you, George.”

“Gotcha. I’ll take that as a no.”


	5. Chapter Five

The rooming situation in the hotel went something like this:

Room 203 consisted of Bill Guarnere, Joe Toye, Babe Heffron, George Luz, and David Webster.   
Room 217 had Buck Compton, Frank Perconte, Joe Liebgott, Donald Malarkey, and Skip Muck.   
Room 220 had Gene Roe, Ralph Spina, Carwood Lipton, Bull Randelman, John Martin, and Alex Penkala. Dick Winters and Lewis Nixon were roomed together in 225, and Coach Speirs was by himself in 108. 

(Rooming Liebgott and David separately was either the stupidest or bravest decision Coach Speirs had ever made.)

Room 203 (plus Liebgott, Don, and Skip) was in a bit of a predicament. 

George had insisted on taking a shower hotter than satan’s piss. That, mixed with the fact that eight teenagers were currently in the room and there was no form of air conditioning, proved for a rather stuffy experience.

Bill and Babe stood facing the window, arms crossed.

“We gotta get this fuckin’ window open,” Bill said decidedly.

“I know,” Babe agreed.

The only thing was, they had tried opening the window about forty times, and it was stuck as shit. There was nothing that was gonna open that window and let the cool night breeze in, but the sweat on Babe’s forehead and the back of his neck was telling him that they at least had to try.

“Hey, fuckwads,” Bill called, turning at an angle to face the other boys (who were going back and forth between watching TV and sticking their hands in the ice bucket).

“Whaddaya want, Gonorrhea?” Toye asked, not looking away from the TV screen. Cupcake Wars was on, and it was an intense fucking episode.

“We need to open this window. You tykes wanna help us out?” Bill offered bluntly.

“You already tried, remember? Didn’t go so well,” David sighed.

“C’mon,” Babe pleaded, wiping his forehead. “For America, or somethin’.”

Skip grinned, shaking his head. 

“Can’t be for America, or we’d have to kick Don out, the goddamn leprechaun.”

“For the last time, I’m from Oregon,” Don said, giving Skip a look.

“Sure.”

Liebgott grunted, coming over towards the window. “I’m sure we can get it open if more of us help, yeah?”

“Not everything is fixed with brute force, Lieb,” David hummed, reading through a magazine calmly. Liebgott looked like he wanted to sock the guy in the jaw, but everyone knew he wouldn’t lay a finger on Web. They had a sort of a love-hate relationship.

“We can at least try. I’m frying in here,” Don mused. He moved over to the window, and with him came Skip. It wasn’t long before everyone was at the window, hands poised on the lip to push it over.

“On three,” Bill ordered. “One, two...three!”

They all tugged as hard as they could, and in the midst of it Babe could’ve sworn he’d heard a yelp.

The window was open, that was for sure. The damn thing was broken open. But other than that, a few boys now had fresh cuts and scrapes on their hands from slipping against the sharp edge of the sill.

“Aw, balls,” Toye swore, glaring at his palms. “This is your fault, Bill.”

“Sure, sure, don’t get your panties in a twist,” Bill shot back.

“Anybody know Ralph and Gene’s room number?” David asked, crinkling his nose up. The boys had grown accustomed to asking Gene and Ralph for medical help on the field, as they’d both gone to a beginner’s medical class last summer. 

“Sure, yeah,” Babe said, standing and hopping over to the phone. He quickly dialed 220 (don’t ask why he knew the number, he just did. Despite what George and Ralph would tell you, he was _not_ obsessed with Gene), and cradled the phone between his shoulder and his ear. It rung four times before someone picked up.

“Hello?” a low voice rasped tiredly.

“Hi-o, Gene,” Babe greeted cheerfully.

“Edward, you do know it’s 2:14 in the morning, right?”

Babe glanced over to the bedside clock, raising his eyebrows. Oh, wow. Okay, maybe he hadn’t known that bit.

“Right, sure. Sorry about that. I woke ya?” Babe asked awkwardly. 

“Yeah, and you woke John and Carwood too.” Gene spoke the words bluntly, but Babe knew there was no real spike to them.

“Geez. Didn’t mean to. But it’s a medical emergency,” Babe offered.

“What?” Gene’s voice was a bit softer now. “What happened, is everyone okay?”

“Tell him George’s dick got caught in a drawer!” Skip hissed. Babe elected to ignore that suggestion.

“We’re fine, just bleedin’ a bit. None of us have any bandaids or anything. Would’ya mind comin’ over here and help patch us up?” Babe asked meekly, knowing he sounded kind of pathetic.

Gene let out a deep sigh. It was a moment before he answered, but when he did his words were sure.

“I’ll be over in ten.”

~

It turned out they didn’t have to wait long. They were all sitting on the two beds and couch, those wounded holding their hands up away from the sheets to keep from bloodstains. When there came a knock on the door, Babe jumped up immediately to answer it.

Of course, it was Gene, but it wasn’t Gene as Babe had ever seen him. He was clad in a plain white t-shirt and dark blue plaid pajama pants, and all he had on his feet were a pair of gray socks. His hair was ruffled in a drastic case of bedhead, and his eyes were slightly droopy.

He just walked in, shouldering swiftly past Babe into the room. He set a little baggie on the counter and glanced around, eyes narrowing at the number of boys with bloody hands.

“Christ, what did you all try to do?” he asked plainly.

“George’s dick got caught in a drawer, and it all went downhill from there,” Skip answered immediately.

George walked out of the bathroom right then, sporting just a towel around his waist. 

“What about my dick?” he asked, shaking his hair out like a wet dog. Gene looked slightly alarmed, eyes travelling down towards George’s southern area.

“Oh my god, no, that’s not what happened,” Babe said hurriedly. 

“We tried to open the window, but we were dumbasses,” Toye growled, gesturing to the broken window behind him.

“Oh,” Gene said, the relief plain on his face. Babe figured the guy hadn’t wanted to deal with any mangled genitals that night. “Okay, that’s fine. How many of you need help?”

Toye, Babe, Lieb, Bill, and Don all raised their hands.

“Right. Let’s get to it.”

~

Gene worked quickly and efficiently, fatigue not slowing him down. Everyone would’ve been impressed with that, if they hadn’t seen him do it so many times before. By the time Gene got to Babe, the bleeding had stopped.

“Let me see,” Gene instructed, so in his element that he didn’t even bother to make eye contact. Babe held out his hands, showing the pinkish scrapes across his palms. Gene nodded once, as if making a mental note, and began cleaning the blood off of Babe’s hands.

He applied neosporin and wrapped Babe’s hands in bandages-- which looked pretty tough, like Babe was a boxer or something-- and tucked in the ends with little medical clips.

“Am I gonna make it, Doc?” Babe asked, grinning. Gene’s eyes flicked up briefly, the hint of a potential smile gracing his features.

“You’ll be fine, Heffron,” he said squarely, standing and collecting his things back up. He said his curt goodbyes briefly, yawned in a way that reminded Babe a bit of a woodland creature, and then was off down the hall back to his room. 

Babe wondered why his chest felt so warm and light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me just end this chapter by saying that a lot of the shit that i'm putting in this fic (breaking hotel windows, nailing an authoritative figure in the eye with a sunflower seed, buck's thirteen sevens, leaving someone at a rest stop) are all very real things that happened on a school trip to my state's capitol that i went on last week. let's just say i was inspired


	6. Chapter Six

Ron Speirs had always been one to wake up early, and that hadn’t changed on the away game trip.

He stood stock-still in the dark (the hotel hall lights hadn’t been turned on yet, due to it being so early), staring at the lit-up vending machine with narrowed eyes. He despised snack junk food, especially from vending machines, but he was hungry and the breakfast buffet wasn’t open yet.

He decided on a bag of Tim’s Original Potato Chips with a deep sigh, inserting the $1.25 required and watching the bag fall down through the machine. He picked it up and turned on his heel, trudging through the hotel hall almost somberly.

When he got back to his room, he was a little surprised to see one of the boys standing outside his door. 

“Can I help you?” he asked, clearing his throat. As he stopped closer to the room, he saw now that it was Carwood standing there, hands folded behind his back politely.

“Hi, Coach,” he said, raising his eyebrows. He glanced towards Ron’s’ door. “I guess that’s why you didn’t answer the knocking.”

Ron smirked, slipping in front of the boy to unlock his room.

“Might be,” he said, opening the door wide and allowing Carwood to step in after him.

“I, uh. I know it’s early and all,” Carwood started to explain, taking the baseball cap off his head and twisting it around in his hands, “but I couldn’t sleep, and...I’m worried, Coach.”

Ron narrowed his eyes, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. A small feeling of worry for the kid wormed itself into his stomach.

“About?” he asked too calmly, only realizing after he’d spoken that his words had been rather icy. However, Carwood stood unphased.

“The weather,” he said curtly. “It’s cold and rainy, and I know there’s two days yet for it to improve, but...if it doesn’t, we might have to cancel the game. That’s what I’m worried about.”

Ron nodded; Carwood was voicing the very same concerns Ron had felt the previous night while looking at the weather forecast. The pitcher was smart.

“Understandable,” Ron hummed, watching Carwood. “Well. If the game _does_ get cancelled, I’ll make sure you’re the first to know.”

To Ron’s relief, this seemed to ease Carwood’s mind a bit, and he flashed a shy smile before returning his baseball cap to his head.

“Thank you, Coach Speirs,” he said quietly. 

Ron noticed the dark, tired circles under Carwood’s eyes. He felt a twinge in his chest.

“Go on, now. Go get some sleep before breakfast,” he said, voice a bit more ordering than he’d meant it to be.

Carwood gave a brisk nod and turned, leaving Ron’s room without another word. 

He couldn’t help but wonder if Carwood was actually going to take his advice or not. The poor kid needed sleep.

~

“Two kids asked me for liquor at the last hotel, can you believe that?” Lewis asked, laughing. Apparently, he found the situation quite funny. (Dick gave him a disappointed, yet unsurprised, look.)

“I trust you didn’t give them any,” Ron said levelly. It was more of a statement than a question. He wanted the best for his team, and if Lewis had given any of them liquor...

“Hell, no. I’m not stupid. I just told them to go back to their rooms,” Lewis sighed, sipping his coffee with a shake of his head. “I just can’t believe they had the balls to do it.”

“Well, who was it?” Dick asked, eyebrows furrowing. Ron turned his shoulders to face Lewis. He was interested in that answer, too.

Lewis gave them a look, pursing his lips. He kept his quiet.

Ron cleared his throat, raising his eyebrows. “Lewis?”

“Look, I took a vow of silence, okay?” he grunted, setting his coffee down on the table a bit aggressively. “Can’t be a narc.”

“Lew, this is not the time,” Dick said in a low voice, “for you to be difficult.”

Ron sighed, leaning back. 

“Honestly, what does it matter?” he asked, huffing a bit. Dick turned to look at him. “I mean, we need all the players we can get. I don’t care if two kids on my team try to get alcohol. If they actually got some, that’d be a different story. There’s no harm in just wanting something, even if it’s something you shouldn’t want.”

(He silently wondered if he was trying to convince himself of something with that last bit.)

Dick seemed to consider that, and Lewis raised his coffee mug in solidarity. Ron rolled his eyes and returned to his pancake from the breakfast buffet.

~

Carwood watched the baseball roll around in his hands with a furrowed brow, letting out a light sigh.

“You’re thinking awful hard over there, Lip,” Johnny noted from where he was sat on one of the hotel beds.

Carwood glanced up, catching and holding the baseball as he made eye contact with the boy.

“There’s a lot to think about,” Carwood countered calmly.

“So, what is it now then?” Buck asked, catching on. “World peace? Child hunger? Animal abuse? Or maybe it’s domestic violence today?”

Carwood allowed a smile. It wasn’t uncommon for the boys to jab him about how serious he was. 

“Actually,” he hummed, shifting on the couch so that he was lying on his back, “it’s the weather.”

(That was a lie, of course. He’d been thinking of the weather that morning, but his mind had since shifted over to the topic of one Coach Speirs. He’d never admit that, though, so he stuck with a harmless thought like the weather.)

Bull gave a low whistle. “It’s cold.”

“Yeah, I don’t wanna play in this shit,” Johnny grumbled, running a hand through his hair. 

“I asked Coach Speirs about it this morning, but he knows as little as us,” Carwood sighed.

“You were with Coach Speirs this morning?” Ralph asked with a little laugh, exiting the bathroom. “Is that even legal?”

Carwood was glad that he didn’t often blush, because if he did, he’d be doing it something fierce just then.

“Aw, leave him alone,” Buck said, grinning. “Plus, his maturity level is at par with Coach’s, so it wouldn’t even be that bad.”

“You’re only saying that because you’ve got the hots for a kid younger than you,” Johnny said pointedly.

“As if,” Buck shot back a bit too defensively.

“Yeah, you seem to like the younger boys, don’t you?” Bull mused, grinning. “I remember it was Don in middle school, but he’s at least in our grade.”

“Come on, that’s enough,” Carwood cut in with good nature, remembering how gruffly heartbroken both Don and Buck had been after their seventh grade love affair ended short. 

“Lip, you know they’re just gonna start up on you again now,” Buck said, although shooting him a grateful look.

“That’s ‘cause he’s the one in love with an old man,” Ralph pointed out innocently.

“He’s twenty-two, you know,” Gene said, speaking up for the first (and probably last) time that conversation. Carwood was grateful-- Gene always seemed to have his back.

“Is he really?” Johnny asked, surprised. “Well, then. Looks like you’re not too much of jailbait after all, Carwood.”

This conversation was stupid, and Carwood was _not_ in love with their coach, but he couldn’t help feeling a little hopeful. 

_Not jailbait after all_ , he thought, repeating Johnny’s words in his head. 

For some, stupid reason, it made him feel just the slightest bit better about whatever this was.

~

Carwood shakily took the cigarette from his lips, blowing the smoke out through pursed lips. He didn’t smoke a whole lot-- especially not around his younger siblings, or his friends-- but he couldn’t help himself every once in a while. Especially at times like these, when his heart was beating a mile a minute and his mind wasn’t going much slower.

He didn’t also didn’t often panic like that, but there he was. Standing and blinking rapidly and thinking about if his siblings were okay, what was happening back home, that sort of thing. 

“You know, I should have you removed from the team,” a deep voice hummed from behind him. He jumped, turning to see Coach Speirs. “For smoking, that is.”

 _Shit_. He dropped the cigarette and stomped it out, hands even shakier now. He eyed the coach nervously, teeth clenching as the older man watched him. And then Speirs smiled.

“Even if I wanted to, though, they’d never believe me.”

Carwood stayed silent, instead giving a light sigh and leaning back against the concrete wall of the hotel.

“I’m sorry, Coach, it won’t happen again,” he promised, his voice a little rough.

“It’s fine,” Speirs said softly, coming to stand against the wall next to him as he tucked his hands in his pockets. “Half the boys on the team do already.”

Carwood resisted from raising an eyebrow. Sure, there were a few boys like Toye and Skip and George who were blatant about their vices, but most of the team was good about keeping these things from the coach. Speirs had impressive attention skills.

“How old are you, Carwood?” Speirs asked nonchalantly, eyes gazing off somewhere distant. 

“Turning nineteen in three months, Coach,” Carwood answered politely, looping his hands.

Speirs just nodded, humming quietly to himself.

“I thought that was about right. You know, you don’t have to mother them.”

Carwood raised his eyebrows.

“Excuse me, I don’t think I understand,” he said.

“The boys,” Speirs clarified, head turning just far enough towards Carwood so that he could see the gold flecks in the coach’s eyes. “They’re immature, but you don’t have to watch over them so fiercely.”

“Oh, I’m used to it, Coach,” Carwood replied, giving a light smile. “I’ve got three younger siblings back at home.”

“So?” Speirs asked, mouth turning up at the corners. “Luz, he has three younger siblings. Liebgott has six. You don’t see them being role models, do you?”

Carwood kept his polite smile plastered on. 

“My father died when I was ten years old, and my mother’s been paralyzed since. Like I said, Coach. I’m used to it.”

Speirs was silent then, just staring at Carwood with those unblinking eyes.

“Don’t call me Coach,” he said, voice softening in the slightest way possible.

“Yes, Coach. Uh, I mean--” Carwood fumbled for his words.

“Ron,” the coach said. “Call me Ron.”

“Yes, er...Ron.”

Ron smiled and took a step away from the wall, towards the door.

“Let’s get you back to your room, Carwood,” he said, opening the door.

Carwood nodded and followed Ron back into the building, unable to ignore how quickly the coach had soothed his panic without even meaning to. 

Carwood sighed. He was in deep shit with this “liking an older man” thing, and he didn’t think he was going to get out of it any time soon.

But maybe that was fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god this one was really vague   
> idk why but i'm also terrible at writing lip/speirs so forgive me for whatever that was


	7. Chapter Seven

“Lieb, c’mon, you’ll get in trouble,” Frank whined, watching Liebgott nervously as he got his toothbrush out.

“He’s right,” Buck added in a low voice, placing a hand on Liebgott’s back (a hand that was very quickly swatted away). “Coach’ll have your big-nosed head if you break the tape.”

After a few late-night incidents, most of which including George Luz in some way or another, Coach Speirs had inducted a new law of lights-out at 10:00. He explained how he’d be taping the hotel room door handles, and if anyone opened their doors after the designated time (thusly breaking the tape), they’d be in a world of hurt.

“You think I care if I get in trouble?” Liebgott asked gruffly, zipping his jacket up.

“Maybe not, but if anyone breaks the tape on this room, we _all_ get sent back,” Don reminded him solemnly. Liebgott paused at that. If there was anything he believed in, it was justice for the innocent.

Grumbling something to himself and running a hand through his hair, he slipped his shoes on and stalked over towards the window.

“I won’t break the tape, then.”

“Thank God,” Skip huffed with a quick laugh. “My Ma and Ruth’d kick my tail if I got sent back.”

Liebgott slowly pushed the window open and threw one leg over the sill.

“Whoa, whoa, hey,” Frank said, rushing over. “What in the world are you doing?”

“I’m not breaking the tape, Perconte,” Liebgott said snarkily.

“You’re going through their window?” Don asked in a fierce whisper. Why he was whispering, Lieb wasn’t sure, but then again Don wasn’t always the smartest.

“It’s broken, Lieb! Remember?”

“Heh, yeah,” Liebgott said, remembering the incident. “Broken _open_.”

“Still sharp,” Buck huffed. 

“Whatever,” Liebgott said, a new wave of anger going through him. “That shitstain took my sweatshirt, and I’m gonna get it back.”

“Just wait ‘till tomorrow, Joe--”

But Skip’s words were lost on Liebgott, for he had already dropped down into the bushes below. He jogged around to the left side of the building, silently cussing everything out along the way. He located the room fairly easily-- it was, rather obviously, the only busted window on the wall-- and started climbing up to the second story of windows.

As he got closer, he could hear the sounds of the TV running, but no light was shining out the window.

Reaching his destination, he grunted and pulled himself through the broken window and into the room. It was completely empty, save for a sole silhouette sitting on one of the beds watching the TV.

The silhouette started, almost falling off the bed.

“Jesus Christ, who in the fuck are you?!” he exclaimed.

“Oh, come on,” Liebgott growled. “It’s me. Lieb?”

“Oh,” the silhouette said, voice calmer. He reached over and turned the light on, revealing himself as the one and only valedictorian of the team.

“Joe? Why are you here?” he asked, stupefied. His eyes narrowed. “And why did you come in through the window? And _how_?”

“I climbed up the drainpipe, Web, it wasn’t that hard,” came Liebgott’s quick reply. “I came for my sweatshirt, you goddamned thief.”

David furrowed his thick eyebrows.

“What, the red one?” he asked, voice lilting.

“Yes, the one you fucking stole!” Liebgott yelled, resisting the urge to clock the pitcher in the face.

David’s face twisted in annoyance, and he crossed his arms.

“I told you, I didn’t steal it,” he said snootily.

“Well, where is it, then? You’re the last fucker that had it. My Ma got me that,” he said in a heated tone.

“Look, I’m real sorry,” David said facetiously, “but I don’t have it. For all I know, Bill could have it.”

“Speaking of Bill,” Liebgott started slowly, his anger fading a little bit, “where is everyone? It’s past lights-out.”

“Yeah, well. They got in trouble for messing around at the pool, so they have to stay in Speirs’ room now,” David explained. 

Liebgott raised his eyebrows, coming over to sit down next to David. 

“No kiddin’,” he whistled, recalling the whoops and hollers he’d heard from the lobby on his snack run last night. 

“Yeah. Coach came to collect them all sometime after 9:00 and he told me that I didn’t have to come with, but then he gave me this, like, death stare,” David said, a quick shiver shaking his shoulders.

“Guy never fuckin’ blinks,” Liebgott agreed, nodding. 

“Tell me about it. I don’t know why Lip’s so obsessed with him.”

Liebgott raised an eyebrow, head turning to face David straight-on.

“What?” he asked. He hadn’t heard anything about the unbreakable Carwood Lipton being obsessed with someone, let alone someone that was four years older than him (and scary as all hell).

David’s light eyes flicked over to Liebgott’s for a moment, and he shrugged.

“You haven’t seen it? He hangs onto Coach’s every word. Joe-- Toye, that is-- even said he’d seen him go into Coach’s room with him,” he said, a grin slowly coming into place on his lips.

“Christ Almighty,” Liebgott laughed, snorting a little bit. “For real?”

“Real as anyone’s yet to deny it,” David giggled.

“Damn. Who’da thunk. Well, let’s hope the bastard doesn’t end up dying,” Liebgott sighed, leaning back against the wall.

“Yeah, who knows.”

It was silent for a moment as both boys watched the TV with no real interest in it. A newly-wedded couple was looking to buy a house in California, but the girl kept turning all of the offers down, saying that none of them had ‘the necessary components’. Liebgott couldn’t help but be reminded of David.

“Oh, God no,” David huffed as the couple entered yet another house.

“What?” Liebgott asked, rolling his eyes.

“Look--” Webster threw out his hands in protest-- “at that wall color!”

It was a pasty kind of green, all throughout the living room. Liebgott felt a familiar spark in his gut.

“It’s fine, Webster,” he replied. “It’s like the forest.”

“It’s like puke in the forest,” David said snobbishly.

“It ain’t your house, so it doesn’t matter,” Liebgott snapped, folding his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, but even so. They’re going to end up hating that wall in a year, and then they’ll have to go into repainting the whole damn thing.”

Liebgott sighed. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a moment. Contrary to popular belief, he didn’t like to fight people, especially not David (he was always annoying while they argued, and then after he had this stupid little sad puppydog face, and he was all put-down, and-- whatever). 

“Okay,” he hummed, opening his eyes and watching the show again.

David was silent for a moment, before turning to face Liebgott with an odd expression on his face.

“Did you just agree with me?” he asked incredulously.

Liebgott shrugged violently (shrugging violently may not sound possible, but Liebgott managed it), looking off to the side.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, feeling his cheeks go just the slightest bit pink.

David laughed, the loud sound filling up the empty room.

“You did,” he cooed, “I wish I could’ve recorded that.”

“What?” Liebgott asked defensively, making a face. “I agree with people every once in a while.”

“Yeah,” David allowed, grinning, “but not with me.”

Liebgott didn’t feel like fighting. He was tired, and David hadn’t even done anything, not really. He scooted off the bed and stood, tucking his hands in his pockets.

“Hey, where are you going?” David asked from behind Liebgott, sounding almost defeated.

“This isn’t my room, remember? You don’t have my sweatshirt, I might as well leave,” he said in an easy tone. In all honesty, he wanted to stay, but it always got weird when he and David weren’t fighting, because then they started _talking_ about things, and David was actually really cool, and-- it didn’t matter.

“Yeah, but-- I mean, you could stay in here. There’s a lot of boys in your room, and I’ve been left all alone.”

(Liebgott will never admit that he blushed, rather furiously, at that.)

“Uh...’kay,” Liebgott said, kicking his shoes off with two steps. He hesitated. “On one condition.”

David raised his eyebrows, looking as though he thought Liebgott was about to ask him for a lapdance.

“A condition?”

“Yep,” Liebgott said, crossing his arms. “No more shit HGTV.”

David grinned.

“Deal,” he agreed.

Liebgott came back over to sit down next to him, and they started their journey of flipping through channels. After HGTV was some food show, where a painfully cheerful bleach-blonde woman was arm-deep in stuffing a chicken. Then was a preschooler channel, where a few bears were playing in a sandbox (“Bears don’t play in sandboxes,” David had said with more frustration than Liebgott thought the situation deserved). They breezed through a dozen more before coming full circle, stopping on the home shopping channel.

“We’re not looking to buy jewelry, are we?” Liebgott asked, watching as a man talked excitedly about a silvery bracelet that looked like something you would get out of a cereal box.

“Who knows, we might find something nice,” David said nonchalantly. “Nothing else is on.”

“I wonder how many people buy their wedding rings on these channels,” Liebgott said out loud.

“That’d be kind of cheap,” David hummed back.

“Whatever, Harvard boy,” Liebgott replied, although there was no real sting to it. 

(It had been a bit of a recurring theme with the team to joke about David’s scholarly status after he’d given a late night wine cooler-induced speech on how he was destined for greatness, and how he needed to get into Harvard to achieve that greatness. Skip Muck still had the video of it saved on his phone.)

“I’m gonna make it in, y’know,” David said quietly, his voice almost hoarse. “To Harvard.”

Liebgott honestly didn’t doubt that. David had the best grades of any kid he’d ever seen, and a rep to match. Plus, what with his parents, he wouldn’t have any trouble with the great Harvard sum.

“‘Sat so?” Liebgott asked, eyes trained on the illuminated TV screen. Liebgott saw David nod out of the corner of his eye.

“Uh-huh.”

“Say, Web,” Liebgott asked suddenly, eyebrows furrowing. “What’ud you study when you get to Harvard?”

Webster was silent. He pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them.

“I have no idea.” He sounded kind of hollow.

That was surprising. David could talk the talk all about how he’d get in to Harvard, but he didn’t sound like he really wanted to. 

“Hey, if all else fails, you could go into marine biology,” he said, turning his head to look at David. The kid’s eyes were fucking glistening. Great. 

He blinked a few times, shrugging, obviously trying to play his tears off casually.

“I s’pose,” he mumbled.

Liebgott’s usual instinct to be painfuly apathetic and irritated when David was showing any sort of emotion kind of ebbed away, and he pursed his lips, still eyeing the boy next to him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. Wow. He...hadn’t meant that to be in such a sappy voice. 

“Nothing,” David said, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. Liebgott gave a huff.

“Don’t bottle up your emotions,” he said curtly. “Never ends well.”

“I don’t know, okay?” David whispered, burying his face in his arms. “I don’t even know why I’m doing this. Everything’s weird right now and this is just a weird mood swing and I don’t even know who I am.”

The classic teenage dilemma. Liebgott had gone through his fair share of that shit. He nudged David’s shaking shoulder with his elbow.

“I do,” he said, grinning even though David couldn’t see him. “You’re dumb, and you like sharks, and you can’t hold your liquor. Also, you yell at the TV.”

David glanced up, revealing his face again.

“What does it say about me that I don’t know who I am, but my nemesis does?” he asked, managing a small laugh.

“I’m your nemesis?” Liebgott asked, raising his eyebrows in mock-sadness. “C’mon, Webster. I’m doing my best to be _nice_ here.”

David rolled his eyes, but he was laughing. He wiped his cheek with the back of his hand.

“Sure, sure. Okay. You’re not my nemesis, for tonight. Yeah?” he asked, leaning his head back against the wall again.

“I’m up for that deal,” Liebgott mused. “But if I’m not your nemesis, than what am I?”

He honestly didn’t expect the soft look David gave him just then.

He also didn’t expect it when David leaned in and kissed him.

Maybe it was the darkness, or the exhaustion, or the warmth, or the fact that he could feel David’s still-wet cheeks against his own, but for whatever reason, he didn’t pull away.

What in the fuck, he thought.

It was then that David placed a hand on Liebgott’s chest and pushed him away, coming up for air.

“Uh,” he said, looking panicked.

“Yeah,” Liebgott said, swallowing.

“Sorry,” David managed.

“Me too,” Liebgott said. And then (of fucking course), Liebgott found it appropriate to pull David into another kiss.

This time, he just thought about the slight stubble that he could feel around David’s jaw. 

How dare that fuckwad grow facial hair before Liebgott.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why did web and lieb kiss when none of the other couples did???? i seriously have no clue it just kinda happened and i never changed it so  
> also web has a random lil cry??? idk it's probably hormones  
> ha yeeahhhh


	8. The End

Richard woke up to someone shaking his shoulders rather roughly. 

He blinked, yawning and opening his eyes. Of course, the perpetrator was none other than Lewis. The man had a ridiculously excited look on his face, which didn’t add up, because the previous night Lewis had ingested enough alcohol to give him one hell of a hangover. And that was saying something.

“Dick, Dick, Dick!” he hissed, grinning wide. (Richard wondered for the umpteenth time why “Dick” had to be his nickname.) “Look out the window!”

Richard sat up in the bed and rubbed his eyes, blinking a bit.

“You sound like a kid on Christmas morning,” he remarked with a yawn.

“Seriously, hurry,” Lewis said, rushing back to the window to gaze out. With an amused eye-roll, Richard slowly followed him, opening the curtains a bit to see what all this fuss was about.

“Mother of Christ,” he breathed, eyes widening. “I can’t believe it.”

~

The boys of Room 203 had gotten somewhat used to sleeping in the cold, due to their broken window. But they were completely unprepared for the chill that morning brought.

“Fucking balls,” Bill growled, breaking the icy silence, “you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“I don’t think I’ve been this cold since that one time I got buried in snow when I was five,” Babe huffed, sitting up in bed and hugging his arms around himself.

“It’s a wonder you’re still alive, what with all of these near-death experiences you always talk about,” David noted, teeth chattering.

“Naw, that’s just South Philly for you,” Bill said knowingly, pulling his blanket around him.

“Wow,” Toye grunted, peering over at David and George’s bed. “George is still asleep.”

“Jesus, how?” Babe asked, huffing. “Dude’s balls are gonna freeze right off.”

“Okay, I’m gonna do something about this,” David said decidedly, crawling out of his warm bed and trekking towards the dastardly window. “Stuff a pillow over it, or something.”

“Good plan. That’s why I’m glad we got College Boy,” Bill said jokingly, turning to Toye (who, in turn, laughed. Although it could’ve also been a grunt. It was kind of muffled by the blanket he was wrapped up in.)

“Whoa,” David suddenly spoke up.

“What?” Babe asked, getting up and following him. When he arrived at the window, all he could do was give a low whistle.

“Well, damn,” Bill said once he’d come over with Toye on his heels.

“Fellas, what’s goin’ on?” George asked groggily, propping himself up and blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

“Nothin’,” Toye grumbled. “Just that we’re _fucked_.”

~

Carwood, being an early riser, saw it first. But he’d elected instead to call Coach Speirs’ room and notify him of the news before waking his roommates. Unfortunately though, by the time he was done with the call, it was too late.

“Holy shit,” Ralph exclaimed, eyes narrowing as he stared out the window.

“No game today then, eh?” Bull murmured. Johnny made a noise in the back of his throat that must’ve been some kind of agreement.

“I don’t think so,” Gene said quietly, shaking his head. “Shame.”

Carwood opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a brisk knock at the door. He turned swiftly, going to open it without a word.

The boys immediately walked in without being invited. Carwood took inventory of the group-- Liebgott, Frank, Don, Skip, and Buck-- and realized that it was all of Room 217. Plus, Alex had returned from his snack run.

“You’re never gonna believe this,” Skip said excitedly, but then paused when he noticed the boys at the window. “Or, maybe you are.”

“Today, of all days,” Frank groaned, coming to sit on one of the beds. 

“It’ll be fine,” Liebgott huffed, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I just hope it ain’t cold on the bus.”

Buck sighed, crossing his arms and balling up his left hand into a fist.

“And here I was, excited for this damn game,” he hummed. 

“We have another game next week, it’s not like this is the last game we would ever play,” Carwood said, trying to lighten the catcher’s mood.

“It’s not the same,” Don said, nodding his head. “But still. I’m not too bummed.”

“Yeah, well. I’m still not 100% sure Coach Speirs _won’t_ make us play in this,” Alex sighed, opening a bag of peanuts.

“All we can do now is wait.”

~

Ron scanned the group of boys huddled before him in the corner of the lobby. It looked like everyone was there.

“As some of you may know already,” he started, folding his arms across his chest, “it’s one hell of a snowstorm out there.”

“You can say that again, Coach,” came a mutter from the crowd, quickly followed by some chuckling.

“Right,” Ron sighed, a smile finding it’s way onto his face. “Well, I’m sure you all know what this means, then. Our game has been canceled.”

~

And so, it was back on the bus they went. That wasn’t too much of a problem for the boys, though. It hadn’t been a bad trip. It was, in all honesty, the beginning of a lot of things.

First of all, David and Liebgott definitely weren’t fighting. They were actually sitting really close together (like the way George I-don’t-know-what-personal-space-is Luz sat next to people), whispering to each other and giggling almost non-stop.

This obviously came as a shock to the rest of the boys, and they started placing bets-- as they often did-- on how long the peace would last. 

(In the end, Alex Penkala and Donny Hoobler won. They’d been the only ones to bet on David and Liebgott staying like that the entire bus ride home.)

Down at the back of the bus, the boys were learning something else unexpected-- that Joe Toye was a cuddler. No one would have believed it, if they hadn’t seen it themselves. But there he was, all curled up into Bill, fast asleep. 

(And, despite the jokes he might have been making, Bill wasn’t really all that opposed to the situation.)

Buck and George had made out, too. Sure, it was just a dare, but everyone realized what was going on after they’d been at it for more than a minute and still going strong. Nobody was really surprised by that one.

On top of that, Gene had very quietly asked a certain ginger outfielder to go to prom with him. Babe proudly beamed the whole ride home.

And _everyone_ could hear Carwood laughing louder than he ever had before while talking with Speirs-- who was actually _smiling_ for once. That one just about took the cake.

The boys of the Easy High Baseball team would later recall that trip with a starry-eyed kind of fondness, the kind that only came with the best memories. 

Yet, whenever the subject was brought up, nobody ever seemed to be able to remember what team they had been scheduled to play against.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and everyone lived happily ever after  
> SWEET yeah okay that's all  
> thanks for reading! i hope you enjoyed at least a little bit of this mess

**Author's Note:**

> wow! geez! this is fun


End file.
